


An Ineffable Honeymoon

by flowerfan



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: A little mystery, But they're in H50's backyard so we get some Grace and McDanno, First Kiss, Fluff, Honeymoon, Humor, Love, M/M, Mostly a good omens story, ineffable husbands, married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-12 02:14:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19938448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerfan/pseuds/flowerfan
Summary: It’s just a few years after the not-apocalypse when Crowley asks Aziraphale to marry him.  Aziraphale blushes sweetly and accepts with a fond kiss to Crowley’s cheek.  Crowley has barely finished sliding the rings onto their fingers when Aziraphale asks him a question of his own, one he hadn’t been at all prepared for.And that’s how they end up in Hawaii.  It's all going swimmingly until they get a whiff of brimstone...





	An Ineffable Honeymoon

**Author's Note:**

> A Good Omens fic featuring appearances by Grace, Steve and Danny.

It’s just a few years after the not-apocalypse when Crowley asks Aziraphale to marry him. Aziraphale blushes sweetly and accepts with a fond kiss to Crowley’s cheek. Crowley has barely finished sliding the rings onto their fingers when Aziraphale asks him a question of his own, one he hadn’t been at all prepared for.

And that’s how they end up in Hawaii.

At first Crowley has no idea why it’s such a popular honeymoon spot. Honolulu is a sweltering tropical hell, and the throngs of tourists in Waikiki get on his last nerve. But a suite at a grand old hotel on the beach suddenly becomes available, and the light in Aziraphale’s eyes as he watches the sun set over the water convinces him they did the right thing.

Crowley sleeps in the first morning, citing jet lag to himself even though he had miracled them halfway around the globe in the space of a breath, no jets involved. When he rises, Aziraphale is happily puttering about the living room, making tea in their mini-kitchen.

“Oh Crowley, hello,” he says, smiling brightly. “There’s ever so many things to try. Would you like some passion fruit tea? Or if you’re in the mood for coffee, there’s dark roast, or vanilla macadamia nut?” He’s holding up two Keurig cups like they’re gems, and Crowley can’t help but be charmed. He never can help it.

“Sure, I’ll try the macadamia nut. When in Rome…”

Aziraphale nods happily. “That’s my feeling, exactly. Now, I’ve researched some restaurants for later that feature Hawaiian cuisine, although there are really so many types of food…”

Crowley tunes out a little, settling in a comfortable armchair, his gaze roving about the well-appointed room, but always coming back to Aziraphale. He’s wearing the thick terry cloth robe provided by the hotel, and it makes him look even softer than usual.

“Shall we take our breakfast on the balcony? I ordered room service, it should be here any minute.”

Crowley dutifully follows Aziraphale outside, squinting in the bright morning light. He’s left his sunglasses inside, but Aziraphale lifts a finger and they appear in his hand. They exchange a glance along the lines of “you know me so well” and Crowley slouches back in his chair, enjoying the feel of the sun on his skin. 

Hours later, after Aziraphale has enthusiastically enjoyed the breakfast spread (“have you ever tasted pineapple this fresh? And the papaya, do try some, it’s delightful”) they get dressed for the day.

Aziraphale comes out of the bedroom sliding his hands down his sides, looking pleased with himself. He’s wearing tan linen pants, a cream colored linen blazer and a light blue shirt in thin cotton. Not all that different than his normal attire, except updated and designed for hotter climes.

Crowley gets caught looking at him, and Aziraphale smirks. “What, you thought I’d wear my favorite coat here on vacation? It’s a city coat, Crowley, and far too warm. This outfit is much more suitable.”

“Agreed,” Crowley says, dragging his eyes away from Aziraphale’s open collar. No bow tie today. The fact that Aziraphale has left two buttons undone at the top of his shirt shouldn’t affect him so much, but apparently it does. For as long as they’ve been together- and even married for almost two days – Crowley hardly ever sees Aziraphale show any skin. He’s hoping things might change, someday soon. He doesn’t need it to, of course. Aziraphale has already given him so much of himself – his innate kindness, his wit, his company. But Crowley’s been thinking more and more about Aziraphale in _that way,_ and from time to time, he thinks Aziraphale is thinking that way as well. Tempting him, even.

They take the elevator down and wander through the sumptuous lobby. It’s decorated in so much pink it almost seems like a joke, but Aziraphale loves it, goading Crowley into taking multiple photos of him with his phone. Wealthy tourists bustle through doing the same thing. Aziraphale gets caught up offering to take pictures of a young family, and then an older couple, chattering in Japanese with them about some of the restaurant recommendations he’s accumulating.

“They agree that Duke’s is a bit of a tourist trap,” Aziraphale fills him in, as if he hadn’t been standing right there throughout the entire conversation. “And they gave me some splendid sushi places to try.”

Out on the street the full heat of the sun barrels down on them, and Crowley admits that Aziraphale was right about not wearing a heavy coat, although he feels a little naked in just his dark t-shirt and skinny jeans. But at least his sunglasses fit right in. It’s so bright that even Aziraphale is squinting, so they stop at a corner store to buy him some sunglasses of his own. Crowley lets him pick out a cheap plastic pair and then snaps his fingers as they exit, turning them into quality Tom Ford half-rims. “Oh, Crowley, thank you,” Aziraphale responds earnestly, tracing them with a fingertip.

Crowley forces himself to relax, despite the crowds of people. They’re likely out of sight of any angels or demons who might want to pay them a visit, Crowley knowing for a fact that overall his kind find Hawaii to be perplexing. A place where the very ground itself spits fire tends to take care of itself.

The horrendous lack of style that is “resort wear,” however, is something Crowley wishes he could take credit for. It’s not as bad here in Waikiki as it could be - many of these tourists are apparently so wealthy that they even dress up to go to the beach. Not that Crowley would admit it, but he recognizes some very pricey designer t-shirts on the women and men who are obediently standing in line to pay $10 for a pile of frozen water with sugar syrup.

Aziraphale, of course, is also eager to taste all the ridiculous things the island has to offer. Strangely, there’s hardly any line by the time they approach the shave ice stand. Crowley finds them an open table as Aziraphale carries the dessert over, his eyes bright. He has to admit, it’s tasty, and at least it’s cold. More importantly, it makes Aziraphale smile, and Crowley nods in acquiescence and uses his phone to look up the best shave ice stands on the island, for future comparison. 

He’s getting tired of window shopping when they pass a store selling surf supplies. “I want to go surfing,” he says, not sure at all where the impulse has come from.

“You do?” Aziraphale has stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, apparently just as surprised as Crowley.

It’s ridiculous. He doesn’t even like to swim, at least, he hasn’t done it in quite some time. Not much swimming to be done in London, not unless you enjoy freezing your balls off, as the saying goes. But the idea has taken root, and Crowley is going with it. “Yeah, I think I do.”

They go into the store and start looking around. “Apparently you’ll need board shorts, and a rash guard,” Aziraphale says, the air quotes practically visible around the unfamiliar terms as he speaks.

A salesperson comes over, happy to help them empty their wallets even though they couldn’t look less like surfers. Before long Crowley and Aziraphale are in adjacent dressing rooms, piles of potential surfing attire waiting for their attention.

“Do I really need one of these?” Aziraphale asks, undeterred by the fact that Crowley can’t see what he’s pointing at. “I’m certainly not going surfing.”

Crowley almost agrees and suggests that Aziraphale wait outside, and then thinks about that glimpse of skin at Aziraphale’s collar. Going to the beach with Aziraphale would require him to show even more skin. He can hardly be faulted for thinking this way – he’s still a demon, after all.

“You’re going to come with me and watch, aren’t you? You wouldn’t want to get your nice new clothes all full of sand. Better buy some shorts at least, no?”

“Oh, quite right. Quite right.”

Crowley finds a pair of black board shorts with a red and orange stripe down the sides, and a matching long sleeved rash guard. Aziraphale spends another twenty minutes trying to make up his mind, the salesperson rolling his eyes and shooting Crowley a mildly exasperated look. Crowley convinces the salesperson’s lazy sandals to get caught on the floor and the salesperson trips into a display, which clatters to the floor.

Aziraphale finally announces that he’s made up his mind, settling on shorts with a pattern of green palm trees, some kind of landscape and blue and pink fronds, and a blue shirt that says “Billabong” across the chest. “It’s the brand,” Aziraphale explains. Crowley doesn’t respond – he thinks it’s the most modern piece of clothing Aziraphale has ever worn, and he’s not going to interfere.

When they finally extract themselves, having purchased in addition to their clothes several pairs of flimsy plastic shoes (which Crowley explicitly forbids from catching on the floor, ever) and entirely unnecessary sunblock, Aziraphale announces that it is time to return to their hotel to get cleaned up for dinner. “You had me at ‘return to the hotel,’” Crowley mutters, reaching out to grab Aziraphale’s wrist as he almost waltzes out into the traffic.

“This whole driving on the wrong side of the road thing is quite dangerous,” Aziraphale says, glaring at the cars speeding by on Kalakaua Avenue.

Crowley agrees. But it gives him an excuse to keep holding on to Aziraphale’s arm as they walk back to their hotel, so he’ll count it a win.

The restaurant Aziraphale has selected for their evening meal is French, extremely high-priced, and appropriately refined. It’s reminiscent of the Ritz, except for the ocean-front location and the lit torches flaming up into the night sky. 

Aziraphale has donned his usual three-piece get-up for the occasion, and Crowley is wearing a dark, slim fitting suit that somehow appeared in his closet. He didn’t miss the light blush on Aziraphale’s cheeks when he put it on. Aziraphale is definitely on the same page he is, Crowley thinks. Or at least beginning the same chapter.

“You do know that translates into ‘frog lollipop,’” Crowley says after Aziraphale places his order.

“What? Oh, well, I’m sure it will be delicious,” Aziraphale says, tilting his chin up. “I do wish you would eat a little more, Crowley.”

Crowley had ordered just an entrée, purposefully selecting something that Aziraphale hadn’t picked for himself, to give him another dish to sample. He really doesn’t go out to eat for the food. Aziraphale should know that by now.

They drink a bit too much wine, and after dinner (and some rather impressive looking desserts – Crowley actually enjoyed the chocolate mousse, although he agreed with Aziraphale that it truly didn’t need the coconut meringue) they go for a stroll on the beach, the torches lighting their way down to the sand. There’s a faint smell of something odd that tickles the edge of Crowley’s senses, mixed in with the aroma of sea salt and the alcohol on Aziraphale’s breath when he leans in to whisper commentary in his ear.

“Do you feel something… off?” he finally asks Aziraphale.

It’s remarkable how quickly his affable angel gets with the program, a decidedly sober expression on his face as he stills and looks around, taking in the tourists walking on the beach, the ocean front bars and restaurants, and the waves crashing on the shore.

“No, I don’t, what do you-” Aziraphale stops, frowning. He’s got it. “Brimstone, just a whiff?”

Crowley nods. He’s moved closer to Aziraphale, and together they stand quietly, extending their senses out. Aziraphale puts a hand on Crowley’s arm and closes his eyes. But Crowley can’t figure out what’s bothering him, and after a few minutes Aziraphale rouses himself and shakes his head. “Anything?”

Crowley shrugs. “Various sins in progress and planned for the evening, but nothing demonic that I can identify.”

“Or angelic,” Aziraphale adds. He looks around again with a sigh. “Best get back to the hotel, no?”

It’s put a bit of a damper on their evening, but Aziraphale brightens up by the time they get back to their room. He changes into silk pajamas the color of the midnight sky, and Crowley feels his heart kick an uncertain rhythm in his chest.

“Care for a nightcap, Crowley?” Aziraphale gestures to the bottle of cognac that has appeared on a side table. Crowley has to hand it to him, he’s remarkably smooth tonight. It’s almost unnerving.

“Sure, um, let me just…”

Crowley ducks into the bedroom. He hadn’t packed pajamas, really, hadn’t thought about it. Besides, he doesn’t own any. Last night he just slept in his briefs, with Aziraphale up all night reading on the couch, like every sleepover they’ve had in the past few years since that started to be a thing they did. 

“Dear, what’s the matter?”

Aziraphale is standing in the doorway to the bedroom, watching Crowley paw through his bag. “Nothing.”

“Come on, come sit with me. The view is lovely.” Aziraphale takes Crowley by the hand and leads him out to the living area. The lights are off, the sliding doors to the balcony open, and the view is, indeed, lovely.

They sit next to each other on a pink velvet couch and sip at the cognac.

“Are you nervous, Crowley?” Aziraphale asks. Crowley could swear he’s tilted his face just so, eyes peeking up from under his lashes, just to tease Crowley.

“No, of course not,” Crowley replies.

Aziraphale smiles softly. “Well, then. Can I kiss you?”

Luckily Aziraphale miracles the glass of cognac out of his hand as their lips meet, because otherwise it would have surely crashed to the ground. Aziraphale’s lips are soft and smooth, and he draws Crowley in with a hand to the side of his head. His scent is nearly overwhelming, comfort and safety and, now, a thrilling sort of excitement Crowley has only dreamed about.

When they pull apart, having done nothing but kiss with closed lips and fast beating hearts, Aziraphale gazes at him and then pulls him into an embrace, letting Crowley tuck his face into the space between his chin and his shoulder.

“What brought that on, angel?” Crowley asks, when his brain comes back online.

Aziraphale is stroking a hand down Crowley’s back, the other playing with the hair behind his ear. “We’re married now. Are you surprised?”

Crowley snorts into Aziraphale’s collar. “Were you waiting for that?”

Aziraphale pulls back and narrows his eyes at Crowley. “It’s not polite to make fun.” He grins a little, turning his face away from Crowley but letting him see the amusement in his eyes. “Besides, I needed some time to catch up. Did you mind terribly?”

Crowley shifts to make sure Aziraphale can see him, because he knows Aziraphale, and despite his bravado, there’s a hint of uncertainty in his tone. “Not for a minute, angel. Not for a minute.”

“Well, then,” Aziraphale says, with a happy little wiggle, and rests his hands on Crowley’s shoulders. “Shall we go to bed?”

“You don’t want to read?” Crowley says, despite himself – surely he could have kept his mouth closed this once.

But Aziraphale has a plan, and Crowley’s awkwardness isn’t about to dissuade him. “I think I can skip a night. Come on, I’ve always wanted to try cuddling with you. You look like you’d enjoy it.”

Crowley sputters out some nonsense that doesn’t even make sense in his brain, and follows Aziraphale to bed. Aziraphale climbs under the duvet and holds out his arms, and Crowley climbs in, sliding close to Aziraphale and wrapping his arms around him.

“Would miracling your pants away be too forward?” Aziraphale asks. “It really can’t be comfortable.”

For fuck’s sake, he’s still wearing his clothes. What a wanker. Crowley concentrates for a second and then he’s wearing silk pajamas, the twin to Aziraphale’s.

“Oh, dear, that’s lovely. Very nice. Very thoughtful.” Aziraphale hums and snuggles closer, stroking Crowley’s back appreciatively. “Sleep well, my love. Sleep well.”

Crowley spends a moment wondering if he’ll ever be able to fall asleep like this, followed by another moment wondering whether Aziraphale will ever want to do more than cuddle. They’ve both been making an Effort for some time now. Crowley has for ages, most of the time, anyway – it’s just more fun, frankly, than going without. He had been surprised to realize Aziraphale had too, but Aziraphale explained that it allowed him to better understand the challenges faced by humans. Crowley didn’t argue with him – it was too intriguing to think about.

Crowley then takes a few minutes to wonder if Aziraphale actually means to spend the whole night awake, _cuddling_ him. It makes him a little self-conscious. He wants to move, and he’s got an itch. But he doesn’t want to seem ungrateful. And now that he thinks about it, the arm he’s got under Aziraphale is getting rather warm. And he’s not sure that the blankets are pulled up properly over his back, he feels a little uneven. Unbalanced. Definitely unbalanced.

He sits up quickly, and Aziraphale blinks sleepily at him.

“What is it, dear?” Aziraphale presses his fingers to Crowley’s chest, and Crowley wonders if he can feel his heart pounding against his ribs.

“Are you going to sleep, angel?” 

“Why yes, I thought I would. I was, already, almost. Is that a problem?”

Crowley looks at Aziraphale, fluffy white hair almost indistinct against the pillowcase, bright blue eyes shining up at him. Waiting only for Crowley to lie his demonic self back down against him. It doesn’t seem possible.

“Come here,” Aziraphale says, and pulls Crowley down into a kiss. Crowley leans in, shuffles himself down until he’s comfortable, lets Aziraphale wrap his arms around him. “I love you, you silly. It’s okay.” Aziraphale kisses his cheek, the tip of his nose, and then his lips again. “Everything else in due time, no? Sleep now. We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

“Love you too,” Crowley breathes out. He’s so full of unrecognizable emotion, he can’t decide if he needs to flee to the balcony for some fresh air, or turn into a snake and hide under the bed. “Stop being so dramatic,” he thinks, and Aziraphale laughs. Either his angel has learned how to read his mind, which wouldn’t surprise him in the least, or he said that last part out loud.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Aziraphale asks.

If he can read his mind, he’s trying to cover it up. Good one, angel.

Crowley sighs. “Just can’t believe this is real,” he admits. “We got away with it, with everything. And now…” He can’t put it into words. 

“And now,” Aziraphale says fondly, agreeing. He pulls Crowley in against him and plants a kiss in his hair. “Sweet dreams, my love.”

*****

It takes them an hour to drive their rented car (a Camaro – quite fun to drive, actually) to the appointed area for Crowley’s surf lesson. When they arrive at the beach, there are only a handful of people on the shore, several gathered under an awning.

Aziraphale climbs down the rocks separating the road from the sand and immediately strikes up a conversation with the people under the awning, leaving Crowley to lug their beach bag and umbrella along.

“And this is Crowley, he’s actually the one taking the lesson. I’m just going to watch,” Aziraphale is explaining cheerfully when Crowley arrives.

“Grace will be your instructor,” the slim woman reclining in a beach chair informs them. “She’s out with another class now, but they’ll be done in a few minutes.” Crowley fills out a few forms, agreeing not to sue them if he drowns. It would hardly be their fault, anyway.

He and Aziraphale walk down to the water, looking for fish and sea turtles, and then Crowley helps him set up his umbrella in a prime spot for watching the waves. Which are rather bigger than Crowley had been led to expect, what with this being a beginner lesson and all.

“I’m sure you’ll do fine, Crowley,” Aziraphale says.

Crowley turns to him, frowning. “No miracling this, Aziraphale. There’s no point in doing this unless I’m actually, you know, doing it.”

Aziraphale shrugs. “Suit yourself.” He straightens his shoulders and raises his chin. “Not even the sharks?”

Crowley starts. “Sharks? There aren’t any sharks here.”

Aziraphale tilts his head, and looks out over the ocean. “Um, yes, I’m afraid there are. They’re not particularly interested in coming closer to shore, but…”

They both look at the group of surfers bobbing around out where the waves are breaking, some sitting with their legs dangling in the water, or their fingers, listening to the instructors. Crowley gets a very sick feeling in his stomach.

“Yes, well, I suppose if you wanted to tell them to be on their way, that would be fine,” Crowley says.

“I thought you might say that,” Aziraphale says, smiling. 

It’s not long before the group of surfers come in, dragging their boards and stripping off their wet rash guards. One of the young girls comes up to Crowley and smiles at him. She’s got dark hair in a long ponytail and is wearing a rash guard with the logo of the surf school across her chest.

“Hi, I’m Grace Williams. You must be Mr. Crowley. Ready to learn how to surf?”

Grace takes Crowley over to where a few boards are lined up on the beach and runs him through the steps necessary to stand up on the board, making him practice right there on the sand. It’s embarrassing if he lets himself think about it very much, so he doesn’t. Finally he’s carrying a board out to the water and paddling out, Grace next to him on her own board.

She’s chatting pleasantly the whole time, reminding him somewhat of Aziraphale, but he’s having trouble concentrating.

“Shouldn’t you be in school?” he blurts out. She’s just a child, and she’s out here all alone, with the sharks, who certainly would be very interested in her and the other tasty humans if Aziraphale hadn’t shooed them away.

Grace laughs and she stops paddling, letting them glide before she turns them around to face the beach. “I’m in college, and I don’t have classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so that’s when I teach.”

“But isn’t it dangerous?”

She grins at him. “My dad thinks so. But everyone in my family surfs, even him.” She gives him an appraising look. “My dad didn’t learn until he was a grown-up either. You can do this.”

A grown-up, Crowley thinks. About time.

Grace isn’t wrong, though. It takes a little getting used to, but by the third time he paddles back out and lets Grace push him off in front of a wave, he manages to stand up. He falls in a second or two later, but still, he did it. 

He can hear Aziraphale cheering from the beach when he surfaces, shaking the water out of his eyes. He blinks a few times, making sure his contact lenses are still intact, and then drags himself back up on the board and paddles back out again.

“How long have you two been together?” Grace asks, looking back over her shoulder at the next wave.

“Practically forever,” Crowley says.

“Not a honeymoon?” Grace asks, smirking in a way that is entirely inappropriate for a child.

“It’s complicated,” Crowley responds.

She laughs again. “You sound like my dad.”

“I’m sorry?” Crowley’s not sure he appreciates all the dad talk. Obviously he’s older than this child, he’s older than everyone (except Aziraphale), but it’s kind of weird. 

“That’s what my dad says about him and Uncle Steve.” She affects a voice, apparently supposed to sound like her dad. “It’s complicated, Gracie. Now go and do your homework.”

“He’s married to your Uncle?” It’s getting weirder and weirder.

“No – they’re not married, at least not that they’ll admit. And Uncle is a term of affection. I’ve got lots of uncles and aunties. They’re my ohana.”

Grace sounds a little bit like she’s about to start singing a Disney song (Crowley made sure to play lots of Disney movies for young Warlock – there’s nothing like having your child sing the same song over and over and over to give parents a true taste of hell) but then she gives his board a shove and yells at him to start paddling, and Crowley is forced to pay attention – or at least try to. He barely gets his knees up under him before he falls off this time. 

When the hour is up, he drags himself back on to the beach, legs shaking and mouth dry. Aziraphale runs up to him, face pink with the sun, hands clasped together in excitement. “Oh Crowley, you did so well! That nice man took photographs – I gave him our email address, and our credit card. We can post them to the Instagram and show everyone!”

Crowley’s not sure who this everyone is that would be interested in seeing photos of him falling off a surfboard, and he’s positive Aziraphale has never looked at Instagram, but he accepts a hug from Aziraphale anyway. Aziraphale beams at him and pats at his wet hair, then turns to Grace.

“You looked lovely out there, darling. Thank you for taking such good care of Crowley. He can be a bother sometimes, I hope he was polite.”

Grace looks like she wants to laugh again, but Crowley shoots her a look and she smothers the laugh behind her hand. “Just like my dad,” she mock whispers at Crowley, and he rolls his eyes.

“Grace!”

A loud voice calls down the beach, and Grace turns around. “Uncle Steve?”

There’s a tall man in cargo pants and a blue shirt jogging towards them, and he doesn’t look very happy.

“Hey,” he says, one hand landing on Grace’s shoulder. “Sorry to interrupt, but you’ve got to come with me, Gracie.”

“Steve, what’s wrong?”

“Everyone’s okay, I just need you down at headquarters.” The man looks at Crowley and Aziraphale, sizing them up. His eyes catch on Aziraphale’s flowered shorts, Crowley’s wet hair, and he apparently categorizes them as nonthreatening. 

It’s not how Crowley is accustomed to being treated, and it rubs him the wrong way. Aziraphale too, although for different reasons.

“Now then, what’s going on? Grace, do you know this man?”

“I’m with Five-0,” the man declares, as if that puts an end to the issue, just as Grace replies “it’s fine, he’s my uncle – remember I told you about him?”

And with that, Grace waving goodbye over her shoulder, the two take off.

“Well, that was odd,” Aziraphale says. “What’s Five-0?”

“Governor’s task force here on the island,” one of the other surf instructors replies, having noticed the abrupt end to Crowley’s lesson. “Nothing to worry about, I’m sure. Grace’s dad is Five-0, too. If we were in any danger, he’d let us know.”

Nonetheless, Aziraphale fusses about it for the rest of the day. Even after they’ve returned to the hotel, cleaned up, and enjoyed a relaxing lunch of room service sushi (well, Aziraphale enjoyed the sushi, and Crowley enjoyed watching Aziraphale eat the sushi), he still can’t seem to let it go.

“Maybe we should check in with Grace. Make sure she’s ok.”

“She’s fine, angel,” Crowley says for what seems like the hundredth time. “That guy’s practically her dad, she wasn’t getting abducted or anything.”

“How would you know?”

“She told me, he’s with her dad, they’re like us.”

Aziraphale narrows his eyes at Crowley. “Like us? In what way, exactly?”

“I dunno. Together.”

“Together, like…?”

“I don’t know the details, Aziraphale, and it doesn’t matter.” He can feel his voice rising, and he takes a deep breath. “Look, they’re some kind of cops, and they can certainly keep Grace out of trouble. You don’t need to worry yourself about it.”

“I can hardly help worrying about it. That man came all the way up to the north shore, an hour away from his headquarters – I looked it up! – just to find Grace. Why would he do that if she wasn’t in danger?”

Crowley leans his head back and exhales slowly. He doesn’t even need to breathe, but it’s quite an effective display of mood.

“You’re not going to leave this alone, are you?”

“I certainly am not. That lovely young girl put her life at risk to teach you how to surf, and now she could be in danger, and we are sitting here eating crumpets and doing nothing at all to help her.”

“Crumpets, Aziraphale? Where – where are the crumpets? And I thought you said you kept the sharks away?”

“Not the point. And something was off last night. You noticed it too – you pointed it out.”

Crowley doesn’t like to lose an argument, but Aziraphale is right. Something was off last night, and it reeked of demon.

“What if something really is going on? We can’t just turn our heads, Crowley. We can’t.”

They’ve still got the rental car, so they drive over to Five-0’s headquarters. Crowley isn’t sure how they are going to convince whoever is running the place to let them just waltz inside, but Aziraphale waves his hands and the guards blandly nod them through (there’s no way Aziraphale didn’t help Lucas with that script in the 70’s - it’s exactly like the scene with the droids).

The tall man – Steve – looks up as they come into the room. At least this time Crowley isn’t wearing a bathing suit. He adjusts his sunglasses and saunters over to the man. “Excuse me, police human, we’re looking for Grace Williams.”

Another man, shorter and quite as full of himself as Steve, pushes in front of them, chest puffed out like an angry bird. “Who are you, and what do you want with Grace?”

Aziraphale has darted past them all and is poking his head into several glass offices. Sometimes it’s helpful to be nonthreatening. Miracle-ing everyone’s gaze in the opposite direction helps, too.

“Well, you see, we had a lovely time with her this morning,” Crowley says, “and we thought she might want to join us for a… cup of tea-”

“What’s the matter with you, you creep, she’s a kid-” 

“Danny, relax, they’re not taking Grace anywhere-”

“He is most certainly not a creep, how dare you!” Aziraphale has now ruined stealth mode, and is bristling his own feathers – metaphorically, of course, his wings are still hidden from view.

“Mr. Crowley, hey, what are you doing here?”

Everyone falls silent as Grace comes into the room. She’s exchanged her swimwear for jeans and a Queen t-shirt, and Crowley shakes his head. There’s definitely something strange at play.

Grace tugs on the shorter man’s arm until he stands down and turns towards her. “Danno, it’s alright. These are the guys from my surf lesson this morning.”

Steve glances between Grace and the two of them, and rubs his chin. “Okay, yeah, I remember you. But what are you doing here?”

Aziraphale takes a deep breath and steps forward. “We believe there might be a demon on the island. And we can help.”

“And, for the record, he’s not talking about me,” Crowley adds.

Crowley doesn’t much care for the phrase “all hell breaks loose” because really, most of the time whatever it’s referring to doesn’t come close, but Steve and Grace’s dad do start shouting rather rudely at them at this point, and shuffling Grace behind them in an altogether insulting manner.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” Aziraphale says, stepping towards them. This causes both men to put their hands on their weapons, clearly a sign of impending aggression that serves to stop most blokes in their tracks. Aziraphale is oblivious, however, and continues to attempt to speak reasonably to them. He’s getting nowhere.

“Hey, coppers, over here-” Crowley says sharply, and flashes them a look at his wings, complete with an extra scary demon-y face. It’s not really his face, his is much more snake-like, but he has found over the millennia that it does the trick.

Unfortunately, this time, it does not have the desired effect, and both cops start shooting at him. Aziraphale flips a wing in front of him, causing the bullets to bounce harmlessly to the floor, and gives the two men his most disappointed look. Crowley asks the guns to sit themselves down on a chair across the room, and they do, leaving the men with their hands outstretched and looking downright silly.

“What the _hell_ is going on here?” Grace’s dad shouts. At last, they’re getting closer.

It takes a few more minutes and some examples of less dramatic miracles (Aziraphale gives Grace a kitten, and Steve a puppy, and everyone in the room coos over them for a moment before Crowley turns them both into crows which almost fly into a window before he remembers to open it and let them out) and finally everyone agrees to go into Steve’s office and listen to what Aziraphale is trying to tell them. Grace’s dad is still sputtering about magicians and hoaxes, and Steve is trying to convince him that they should contact someone named Kavika who is apparently a local religious figure, but at least Aziraphale is managing to get a word in edgewise. 

Crowley has stepped off to the side, leaning against the doorway. Grace joins him, bringing over a bottle of water. He raises an eyebrow at her, and she shrugs. “You got a lot of sun today,” she says. “You want to look out for dehydration.”

So Grace isn’t really getting it either. Being as demons don’t generally get dehydrated. But she’s a sweet kid, so Crowley takes the water.

“Wait,” Grace’s dad says, standing up and looking grimly back and forth between Aziraphale and Crowley. “You’re saying that you are _angels,_ and there’s a _demon_ on Oahu?”

“Well, technically I was an angel but not any more-”

“I’m an angel, Crowley’s a demon, but he’s not the problem-”

“Ohhhh, he’s a demon with a soul, like Angel,” Grace says thoughtfully. 

“Like who?” Aziraphale asks, and Crowley presses a hand to his face. 

“From a television show, angel, the vampire’s name was Angel, I’ll explain later, just let it go-”

“But-”

“How about this,” Crowley says, putting a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder to quiet him. “Why don’t you two tell us what’s going on, what’s so important that you had to drag Grace away from my surf lesson-”

“We were finished,” Grace interjects, apparently concerned about her level of professionalism in her career as a part-time surf instructor. “I wouldn’t have left if we weren't.”

“And then we’ll see if we can help.”

Silence.

“If some other, um, witness had information that could help, you wouldn’t send them away without listening, right?” Crowley asks, just barely refraining from giving the two police officers a little demonic push to convince them to comply.

Steve and Grace’s dad exchange a look, and then Steve seems to make a decision. “Okay. Danny and I will fill you in, and hear your idea. But then if we say you need to leave Grace alone, you do it. Are we clear?”

Crowley finds it amusing that these two think they have any power over him and Aziraphale, but they agree anyway.

“Come on.” Steve leads the way out of the office and over to a table with a large computer screen in it. He pokes at it a few times, and then some photographs show up on a screen.

“Neat tech,” Crowley says, and Grace nods.

Steve explains that over the last few nights dozens of people on the island have had dreams about wounded people calling to them. Grace stayed over at Danny’s last night, and when she woke up, she told Danny about her dream. Then this morning they had a report that Tani, who had a similar dream the night before, had gone missing – the first person to actually disappear, as opposed to just suffer bad dreams. That’s when Steve drove out to find Grace.

“Tani told us yesterday that her dream reminded her of the legend of Kaupe,” Steve says. “He was a malevolent spirit who calls out to people at night to lure them to their deaths.”

Danny swipes at the table and another picture comes up, of a giant man-like creature with a canine head and sharp claws. “This is what we found when we researched Kaupe.”

“Cough – Wikipedia - cough,” Grace says, earning a sharp look from her father.

“He supposedly used to rule Nu’uanu Valley, and hung around under the Kipapa Bridge,” Steve says. “So far, that’s all we know. Junior and Jerry headed out to Nu’uanu, and Adam and Lou went to Kipapa. But there’s been no sign of Tani.”

“Let me get this straight,” Crowley says. “You were willing to believe that a mythical creature was luring people to their deaths, but beingssss with wingsssss appear in front of your eyes and you think we’re pulling a hoax?”

“It _is_ kind of weird that angels would be taking surf lessons,” Grace says under her breath.

“I don’t really think that some legendary creature is out there lurking under the bridge,” Steve says, and Crowley can tell he’s getting exasperated with them. “I think someone is playing us. It happens all the time.”

“Yeah, but if that’s true, how did he get Gracie to dream the same dream that Tani did?” Danny asks quietly, moving to Grace’s side. 

“We’ll take care of it,” Crowley says with a shrug.

“What?” Steve asks.

“We’ll take care of it. Me and 'ziraphale. It’s not a poser. It’s a demon.”

“What makes you so sure?” Steve asks.

“We… sensed something was wrong. Last night,” Aziraphale explains.

“And it definitely sounds like something my lot has a hand in. Bad dreams, calling you out, classic demon move.”

“A lesser demon, probably,” Aziraphale says, turning to Crowley. “Terrifying to those involved, but working on a small scale.”

“Hm, yeah. Not sure why it started up now, though.” Crowley looks at Steve and Danny. “You been doing anything to piss off demons?”

Steve is affronted at this, and starts to explain how reverence for the land and the ancient gods is something that has always been important to him, but Danny is swiping at something on the computer table and finally swats him in the arm to get him to shut up.

“Danno, what?”

“Look.” Danny swipes at the table again, and an article is displayed on the screen. The headline reads “Work On Kipapa Bridge Begins This Week. Project Expected To Last Six Months.” 

“We pissed off the demon that lives under the bridge,” Steve says, shaking his head.

“God damn it,” says Danny. 

“Not her fault this time,” Aziraphale comments. “Come on, Crowley, let’s go soothe the demon.”

“Or kill ‘em,” Crowley says. “Probably faster just to smite him, don’t you think? You haven’t gotten to do any proper smiting in years.”

“You’ll find Tani, too, won’t you?” Grace asks.

“Of course we will, dear,” Aziraphale says, as Crowley mouths “we’ll do our best” over her head to Steve and Danny.

*****  
That night, demon smiting accomplished (he wouldn’t listen to reason, shocker) and the missing team member safe and sound, Aziraphale and Crowley find themselves at a backyard barbeque at Steve’s house. It’s not the first backyard party they’ve ever been to – the Youngs have invited them to several – but it’s rather odd, just the same. And kind of nice.

Grace comes over to them as the sun is setting. “So, I have to ask you something.” She glances left and right, making sure no one is listening, and steps in close. “How is it exactly that an angel and a demon can get together, but my dad and Uncle Steve can’t get their heads out of their asses?”

Crowley looks over to where Steve and Danny are standing at the edge of the water. Danny’s holding a beer, and Steve keeps bumping him with his shoulder as he talks, causing Danny to shove back in response, beer and all. The party continues to go on all about them, but they’re in their own little world.

“Don’t worry, Grace,” Aziraphale says. “It might just not be time for them yet.”

Aziraphale gives Crowley a fond look, and Crowley can’t help but sway a little closer to his angel. The glow from the setting sun is turning Aziraphale’s hair a soft gold, and Crowley very much wants to kiss him.

“They’ll come around, Grace, give ‘em time,” Crowley says. “And it will be well worth the wait.”

**Author's Note:**

> In case you are curious, the hotel Aziraphale and Crowley stay at is the Royal Hawaiian, and they go out to eat at LeMer. Crowley surfs at Chun's Reef, a perfect spot for beginners. And you can see the board shorts I had in mind for Crowley and Aziraphale [here](https://www.billabong.com/d-bah-pro-boardshorts-828570426644.html#cgid=men_boardshorts&camp=ppc_bbm_us-en_e_google_search-billabong-exact_ppctxt&utm_source=google&utm_medium=paid-search&utm_campaign=search-billabong-exact&gclid=EAIaIQobChMIuaDrlIDL4wIVBVYMCh2Tcgb3EAAYASAAEgIK4vD_BwE&start=6&hitcount=265) and [here](https://www.billabong.com/sundays-pro-boardshorts-828570541514.html#cgid=men_boardshorts&camp=ppc_bbm_us-en_e_google_search-billabong-exact_ppctxt&utm_source=google&utm_medium=paid-search&utm_campaign=search-billabong-exact&gclid=EAIaIQobChMIuaDrlIDL4wIVBVYMCh2Tcgb3EAAYASAAEgIK4vD_BwE&start=11&hitcount=265).


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